


Before the Shield

by Dellessa, patrickthewriter



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dellessa/pseuds/Dellessa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrickthewriter/pseuds/patrickthewriter





	Before the Shield

He was awoke by the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of a ceiling fan. A breeze blew in from an open window. The heat, the humidity, the musk of the city crept in. The festering trash below his window flared his nostrils. He turned over and buried his face into the pillow, groaning.

Still, the light from the naked bulb forced his eyes open as he rolled over.

“Frag,” he muttered, swallowing hard at the sound of his voice. Voice, vocal cords --

Reaching up, he touched his throat. A day’s worth of stubble brushed against his fingers. Skin. 

“The frag?” He said more softly this time.

His head snapped up. There was a knock coming from another room. His eyes narrowed as the knocking got louder, more insistent. The bang, bang, bang, matched the pain in his head. 

“Prowl!” The knock shouted through the closed door.

Standing shakily, he reached down to his thigh, expecting to come up with his blaster from his holster. Nothing. 

Flesh, he remembered. Human, he accepted as he glanced at himself in the mirror. He smirked, seeing just what he wanted on the nightstand. It sat next to an empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and a sticky glass.

He slid the cold steel from its leather holster. He spun the six chambers and admired the craftsmanship. With an automatic flick, he checked to see it was loaded. He held it up carefully as he walked to the now silent.door. 

"Prowl!" The knock became a banging. "Prowl, if you don't get up, I'ma break this goddamn door down!"

He reached for the lock, quickly flipping the dead bolt before twisting the knob. He turned dancing out of the way as the.door was pushed.open. The other person tumbled through, foot tripping on Prowl's outstretched foot.

He pointed the gun at the man in gray guayabera and backwards driving cap. His sunglasses had fallen to the floor. He watched Prowl warily. 

"God damn, Prowl," he shouted hoarsely. "If you're going to off me, don't do it with your dick hanging out. Put some damn pants on."

Prowl blinked, lowering the gun. He looked down at his body. Bare, hairy, black skin greeted him. He had penis where his spike should have been. Suddenly, he felt really cold as it hung limp in the air. 

"Jazz?" He waited for a half moment for acknowledgement. "I'll..."

"Yeah, whatever," Jazz replied, collecting himself off of the floor. "Get It together. We gotta meet the captain. They found a body."

"Yeah, who?" Prowl asked. 

"Get dressed, I don't want to see you pop a chubby when I tell you who."

He scratched his temple with the butt of the revolver. The were both detectives, he seemed to remember. But he... He shook his head before going into the bedroom.

"Want some coffee?" Jazz yelled.

Prowl looked for clothing, finding pants, underwear, a couple.shirts. He started to dress, hands and legs moving automatically.

"Yeah, think I need it." He yelled back, grabbing keys, a wallet with a badge that said Detective on it. He holstered his gun. It fit under his arm. He covered it with a jacket. A smartphone glowing with messages was slipped into his pockets. 

He struggled to remember where he was before he woke up in this body. How in the Pit did he get here? His hands were reaching for a orange, plastic bottle before he knew it. He shook a pill out, popping it into his mouth and swallowing. He read the label, frowning. 

“C’mon, Prowl!” Jazz urged, watching him from the door, before turning back to the perking coffee. 

"My dick sufficiently covered?" Prowl asked walking in.

"Yeah, pity though." Jazz offered him coffee before catching him for a kiss. 

Prowl kissed him back. The body wanted it. Prowl seemed to need it. Circuitry or blood, some things were a constant in the multiverse. It rang through his soul.

"There's my Prowler," Jazz said. "I was afraid you wouldn't snap out that time."

"Snap out?" 

"You were flashing back, right?" Jazz said. "To.the war?"

"The war." Prowl agreed. He remembered a war all right. His last Cybertronian memory came flooding back.

OoOoOoOo

_“Seekers,” Ironhide said, pointing up at the sky. The streaks of contrails crisscrossed the sky above them._

_When spy satellites noticed something was up; he, Ironhide and Cliffjumper ran a recon before the rest of the main force jumped in._

_The ‘Cons were on another raid of a nuclear power plant. The battle for energon had been getting worse each month. The ‘Cons needed more and more, and the Autobots reserves were well protected._

_It had been hit and run attack after hit and run attack for months. Prowl just could not see the sense in it. How much energon could they steal from nuclear power plants?_

_Why just build your own? Or steal your own like the Autobots had through complicated recommissioning with the US Navy and a nuclear submarine?_

_“This again?” Ironhide asked, grimacing as a shaky Devastator came together at the gates of the plant. “Don’t they know they could cause an explosion, and blow up this whole valley?”_

_Prowl held his blaster, watching with him. “I wonder how many of these are becoming suicide missions, reducing tanks to fill.”_

_“Really, Prowl?” Cliff asked. “You’d think Buckethead is up to that?”_

_“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it,” Prowl smirked, giving Cliffjumper a sidelong glance. “I won’t be taking volunteers when I do.”_

_Ironhide sighed, as some ‘Con’s were running in their direction. “I think we’ve been spotted.”_

_“And they don’t look like they’re ready to surrender,” Cliff countered._

_Prowl leveled his blaster and started firing. “Sometimes, I should just bring Grimlock.”_

_“Prime,” Ironhide started into the comms. They brought Big Boy out to play, and he might take out the whole thing with his smashing.”_

_“Prime,” Prowl added. “We’ll need those reinforcements soon.”_

_“We should have brought Grimlock,” Cliffjumper added._

_“I’ll feed you to Grimlock, if you don’t stop whining.”_

_“Fine, fine,” Cliffjumper said as he hit his third target._

_“Cut your yappin’,” Ironhide said, pulling out a wolframite mace, before jumping over the boulder. He charged, swinging the weapon. It connected with Decepticon heads._

_Out of the corner of his optics, Prowl could see the main Autobot force coming in from the road._

_Then there was a blast that came from where he should have been watching._

_“Prowl!” Cliffjumper yelled._

_His head hit dirt, then all he could remember was the thud, thud, thud of Springer’s rotors above him._

OoOoOoOo

Prowl took a long drink from his coffee as Jazz drove them to the crime scene.

“You sure, you okay?” Jazz asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because you look like you had another long wrestle with Jack, and Jack won.”

Prowl grimaced, glancing out the window, watching the fleshbags go about their business. Some of them looked familiar. Hell, some of the back ends of their cars did too. 

“Prowl, be straight with me, you still taking your meds?”

Prowl glanced at him, staring long and hard. “You saw me take one.”

“I know, but I read how people can… you know, fake it. Mental Patients in hospitals. Real, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest shit.”

“You calling me crazy?”

“Prowler,” Jazz shook his head. “I know you ain’t crazy, but you ain’t yerself. I’m just worried.”

“Well, don’t worry and make like Big Chief for a bit,” Prowl said.  
His mouth was dry. The coffee and the antidepressant was not helping. The more his head cleared, the more questions came to mind. What had he been doing the night before? Why had he been shot? Which war was he glitching from? The real one with the Deceptions, or some imagined war as a human? 

Which one was he imagining? 

He glanced over, Jazz’s lips were pursed together. He got angry the same way even in human form. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m hungover.”

“Prowl, I swear, you gotta lay off the booze.”

“Only way I can sleep.”

“Right,” Jazz frowned, gripping the wheel. 

“Stay over more, and maybe I’ll sleep better.”

“I had to go,” Jazz said. “If Yolanda finds out…”

Prowl put hand up, tired of hearing about it. “Look, we gotta case, right? Who’s the body?”

“Megatron.”

“The Megatron, really?”

“Yep, fucking big mess of it too, like a Damien Hirst exhibit. Cap’s all wound up about it.”

“Yeah, I bet. Surprised he isn’t suspect number one.”

“Fuck, you know there’s a line, and the Cap’s at the back of it. When we find the perp, do you we show up with cuffs or cake?”

“Shit,” Jazz sighed with amazement. “Depends on who the perp is, I guess.”

“Where was he found?” Prowl asked.

They slowed. Jazz flipped the siren long enough to clear space for them to be identified so they could be let through the police lines. He parked. 

“Up there” He pointed towards to penthouse.

OoOoOoOo

“You’re right,” Prowl said as they hit their stop on the elevator ride. “I almost popped a boner.”

Jazz opened his mouth to say something before the doors slid open onto the penthouse floor. There was a couple plainclothes waiting at the front door. Prowl scanned the foyer as both of them pulled their badges. They were on a case, and whatever happened between the sheets needed to be back on the d-l.

‘Is the Captain in there, Cliff?” Jazz asked as they put on gloves and shoe covers to keep from contaminating the scene.

“Practically the first one here.” The stubby cop opened the door slowly. 

“Primus,” Prowl whispered. The walls were torn up, paintings and glass smashed. There were clear signs of struggle, like bodies has been tossed around the room like beanbags. 

Jazz cut him a look before taking it in himself. “What the hell happened in here?”

They followed the marked trail of blood across the cold marble floor. A white hand with a gun nearby traced out in white chalk by the door. Prowl glanced around again, making out the unmistakable signs of gun shots behind them. There was so much spurted blood, he had to wonder if it was all Megatron’s.

“I half expected to see him shot up with an M16, but not this.” 

“Well, he was eviscerated, gutted like Mayan sacrifice,” The Coroner said, pointing with a laser pointer.

“Doc Ratch,” Jazz said. “Cap’n.”

“About time you boys showed up,” Captain Prima said. Prowl squinted, almost seeing the red and blue hues of Optimus Prime shine through his inner vision. He was still bigger than both of them, lean and trim. His hands and face were scarred with walking a tough beat before rising up through the ranks.

“The sharks are circling downstairs,” Jazz shrugged. “Took time to get them to understand what ‘no comment’ means.”

“Damn, I hoped we’d get a couple hours before the press got wind.” 

“Big whale, small pond,” Jazz shook his head. 

“What are all these wounds?” Prowl asked, kneeling. “Do we know what made them yet? Have we found a murder weapon, yet?”

“You’re the detective,” Doc Rach said. “Look, I’ll know more when I get him on the table.”

He looked to Prima. “Do we have enough pictures?”

“Seared into my brain,” The old cop replied.

Prowl and Jazz glanced at each other as Rach gestured to his crew with the gurney. 

“Looks like a sword fight, and whoever it was, took their time,” Prowl ventured.

Prima grunted.

“Cap’n?” Jazz asked.

“I was agreeing, Detective.”

“Right,” Prowl glanced at Jazz. 

The other returned the look. Captain Oscar Prima had degrees in a dozen different fighting styles. They knew their captain could fight with a half dozen bladed weapons. They knew he kept a claymore hung in his office. They knew it sometimes came down from the wall. 

But this was close in work, the cuts indicated a hell of a fight, and the big beast would have danced around, using his size and speed to his advantage. It would have taken a few blows to bring a brute like Megatron down. 

He glanced at Captain Prima. Was he the type to take heads, or run someone through?

He turned to look at the body, wondering. Can’t have a chat with a severed head, no matter what the French said after good Guillotining. But a man bleeding out? You can talk for a long time, even while you cleaned your blade. 

Prowl was certain Megatron knew what he did. He knew why he was going to die. It was as simple as ripping out a coolant line, he thought. It took time for a bot’s processors to overheat. The lights went out in the face of a screaming Decepticon went out in his memories. 

“Prowl,” Jazz whispered. Prowl shook his head. He’d been staring at Captain Prima. 

“You boys have work to do,” Prima said. follow the doctor and Megatron out. 

They watched, waiting for them to be gone.

Jazz broke the silence first once they were alone. “Really, you okay?”

Prowl shook his head. “I was just remembering something.”

“That big ass sword in his office?” 

“Right,” Prowl danced towards the part of the truth that worked. “But if its him, he we aren’t going to find a thing on it.”

Jazz looked around, making sure they were by themselves. “And if it is? Do we arrest him?”

Prowl frowned, looking down at the empty spot where Megatron had lain dead only minutes before. “Murdering a complete bastard is still murder.”


End file.
